


Five Times Kent tried to ask Chandler out

by Oodblood



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, Kent has a hard time asking Chandler out, M/M, Oblivious Chandler, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 00:51:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1761101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oodblood/pseuds/Oodblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Kent thinks he shouldn't listen to what the tv-oracle has to say about his love life. Sometimes though, she's right and his love life sucks. Also, Chandler can be an oblivious fool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Kent tried to ask Chandler out

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank the lovely Luana for inspiring me and giving me the push I needed to actually try and finish this. In other words: this is my first fanfiction and i'ts all because you got me on board this goddamn ship, I hope you're happy. 
> 
> My sister gave this a quick read, but we're both no experts, so any and all mistakes are mine (wanna be my beta? YES PLEASE)
> 
> You can also find this work over at fanfiction.net.

It's only about 1 month in that Kent realises his hero worship for Detective Inspector Joseph Chandler has turned into something else. The day it hits him, he's been sifting through boring relevant CCTV footage of the Ripper case for hours when he finally finds something. He nearly falls out of his chair in excitement and scrambles for paper to note the time and date, squinting his eyes at the screen in order to take everything in. Then he sprints over to the DI's office. Chandler sits at his desk -as is the norm- with his smaller belongings perfectly straightened out. He seems to be reading. He's doing that a lot. You could tell by his position how long the DI had already fought with some file or other. Half an hour: straight back, arms resting easily on both sides of the text. Up to two hours: back resting against his chair while one arm holds up his head, drawn eyebrows. Everything over that turned into the pose the team had dubbed "Atlas reading" where Chandler braced his forehead with two hands and was hunched over his desk. Miles swore the boss also had a footrest somewhere hidden beneath his desk for no other reason than to draw his knees higher, thus enclosing whatever he was reading with his whole body*. On days like that he nearly got through one of his tiger balm tins, massaging the paste in soothing circles onto his temples. When or how Kent noticed this was beyond his own comprehension. He also did not know why there were four tins of the exact same balm hidden on a shelf behind the mirror of the men's loo and "Go bother someone else Skip I've no idea what you're on about, I'm busy"

"Sir, I think I've got something!" Chandler distractedly lifts his gaze only to blink a few times and go: "Really?" Kent can see him trying to hold his optimism for a solid lead down. Or maybe he's just that disillusioned. "Yes, you see it's one of the CCTV recordings from Monday night-" "Show me." Kent turns and hears Chandler getting up to follow him; together they make their way back to Kent's desk. Clicking furiously, he finds the right spot and hits space. The screen comes to life and shows a hooded figure stalking over the premises. Aren't they always hooded these days, he thinks and turns to look at the DI who's bent low, one hand on the desk and one on the backrest of Kent's chair. "Can we use this, sir?" he asks and now it's himself who's pushing his excitement down. "We absolutely can, Kent. Excellent job." A light pat on his shoulder and then they grin at each other, tasting triumph on their tongues, the drops of blood that keep all hunters going.** And just to embarrass himself Kent lets himself realize how close their faces are, goddamn it. Chandler either ignores his subtle blush or he's blind, but he's straightened up and is already planning their next steps.

 

* * *

*substantially becoming one with it, in order to absorb it and know its power and meaning because COME ON what is this supposed to mean and haven't I read this before how is this even important right now and then he'd think of the case again and would hug the wood and paper closer to his body core. **but not, like, man hunters or something, gosh get a grip. also not cannibals.

* * *

 

 

5 hours later Kent returns to the station to get the last of his things. He's absolutely beat, having rung every bloody doorbell in what feels like all of Whitechapel, inquiring about a blurry print-out of their suspect. Spent half an hour in the flat of a very lively old lady with a herd of pugs. He sniffs warily at the hem of his shirt; it still smells vaguely like dog. At least he's not the last one in the building. He knows for a fact that Skip got himself into a heated discussion down in the "archive" with Buchan. He's not quite sure what exactly it's about but he could hear them quarrelling, making his way up the staircase. With a last look he checks if he missed something important, then grabs his jacket. Something goes CLANG. He freezes.

 

There's really only one person that could be in the bureau this time of the evening. "Sir?" he calls out tentatively. How could he have missed that one single desk lamp creepily lighting the boss's room? "Kent?" comes the answer. It was a long day. Kent doesn't bother to hide the shiver running through him upon hearing his voice. With a few strides he stands in the door and gets an eyeful of exhausted DI Chandler. A second passes in which they just look at each other, Chandler behind his desk, Kent leaning against the doorframe. He's mesmerized. It shouldn't be possible to simultaneously look gorgeous and half-dead on your feet, but somehow Chandler is pulling it off. The weak shine of the lamp is smoothing out the normally hard lines in Chandlers face and throws deep shadows on his white dress shirt. His tie is slightly askew, Kent notices.

He can't for the live of him look away. The DI stirs and the moment breaks, the tiredness creeping back at him. "You're going home, Kent? Is Miles still here?" "Err, he was talking to Buchan, sir? No idea if he's still around, though." There's a short pause before he continues. "Did you want to speak with him?" At the end of that question Kent desperately tries to keep down a yawn and fails spectacularly. "No, that's alright, we'll debrief tomorrow ...Goodness, it's really gotten late." Chandler glances at his immaculate geometrical layout and seems mildly surprised by the display of his watch. He hides a yawn of his own behind his hand and Kent feels something velvety-warm bloom in his stomach. Now or Never. "Well, I know I'll need a ton of coffee tomorrow, sir." Kent swallows." We could go get some at Stacy's. Together. It's right around the corner, they also have --   um. Sir?"

Chandlers head shoots up from where it's been slowly sinking, just like Kent's hopes or stones in water or like, the titanic. "I am so sorry, I didn't mean to nod off! Forgive me, I think it's been a long day for both of us, please, carry on, I'm afraid I didn't catch what you said, Kent." Normally Kent would appreciate the flustered look on his face, but right now all he wants is to get his arse out the office before Chandler can catch up with the situation. "Oh, no worries, I was just. I was just going to go" He awkwardly raises his jacket to give testimony to the fact that he is indeed planning on going. Home, that is, and yes, Kent has a home, a bed too, actually. "gonna try to get a wink of sleep." He pulls his face into something resembling a smile. "Right." Chandler says, blinking at him, obviously trying to work out what part of the conversation he'd just missed. "See you tomorrow then!" Kent calls, slightly too loud, whirls, and runs face-first into Miles.


End file.
